"Who is she?"
"A daughter of a Prince of India."
"And the Prince—Who is he?"
"Ask some one who knows. There he is in the second chair."
Once a woman went close to Lael, snatched a look, and stepped back, with clasped hands, crying:
"'Tis the Sweet Mother herself!"
Without other incident, the procession passed the gate of St. Peter, and was nearing that of Blacherne, when a flourish of trumpets announced a counter pageant coming down the street from the opposite direction. A man near by shouted:
"The Emperor! The Emperor!"
Another seconded him.
"Long live the good Constantine!"